Chapter 6 – So Completely Alone

Deore’s cry jerked Elana once again from sleep. The baby thrashed against her as Elana guided her nipple to Deore’s eagerly seeking mouth. Her cries were abruptly silenced as she latched on, and her body relaxed as she settled to vigorous nursing. Elana yawned and peered blearily around the tiny shelter. Was that the faintest bit of grey dawn light she could make out? This night had stretched forever, with Deore over and over settling into brief, light sleep, only to wake again after what seemed only moments. Elana had learned to sleep through the actual nursing, but Deore’s frantic cries and desperate rooting when the breast had slipped from her mouth and she could not find it again inevitably woke her. This night had been particularly bad, but rare was the night Deore would wake less than seven or eight times. Deore was thriving, but Elana could feel the lack of sleep wearing on her own body. Her mind was becoming fuzzy, and she made clumsy mistakes. Here in the forest alone, a single slip could be fatal, for her or her child. Deore would nap on and off during the day, but Elana must spend the precious and rapidly shortening daylight hours accomplishing the tasks that let the two of them survive.

Elana drifted off for a few more precious moments of sleep. When next Deore awoke, the lashed-together poles of the walls and the thatched roof of the lean-to were clearly visible, and the gray of dawn was beginning to be touched with gold. Elana shifted Deore to her other side, and the baby nursed until her initial hunger had been satisfied and her sucks slowed. Elana slid her nipple gently from Deore’s mouth, and for a moment the girl was content, but when Elana slipped out from under the thick pile of blankets covering them, a cold draft invaded the warm nest and roused Deore again to protest. Hastily, over the shift and knitted hose she had worn to bed, Elana threw on her warm woolen dress, with slits concealed in folds to allow access to her breasts. She took up a long length of woven cloth, and with a practiced gesture wrapped it in a few special folds around her body, then knotted it at her waist. She picked up Deore and slid her into the secure pocket thus formed, adjusting her position to allow her to nurse supported by the cloth, leaving Elana’s hands free. Elana wrapped her warmest cloak around the two of them, drew on her leather shoes, and stepped out into the morning.

Cold as it had been inside the shelter, outside was even colder. Frost rimmed every leaf and blade of grass, and the wind was sharp and bitter against her face. Elana knelt by the fire and stirred to life the coals she had banked the night before. Adding kindling and branches, she soon had a merry fire to put out a bit of heat and boil the water for her morning tea. After a month it was second nature to work around the bulk of the baby bound to her chest. Dried fruit and a strip of dried meat from her store made an adequate breakfast. She’d put away quite a bit of food before Deore was born, and the extra that Roswyn and Theodred had prepared in the week they’d spent here should ensure she had plenty to last until spring.

That week glowed ever more golden in her memory. Her friendship with Roswyn restored, and her growing love for Theodred, climaxed by their mutual declaration on that last bittersweet day, all had made that week one of the sweetest of her life. But now, after three weeks alone here in the silence of the wood, with a baby she loved dearly but who provided no company while depending on her completely, she would have welcomed even complete strangers, just to have another human presence, another voice to talk with. Never in her life had she been so alone. Growing up she’d been surrounded by her large, boisterous, loving family, and the close community of their friends and neighbors in the village. Even in those horrible months captive in the orc caves there had been Roswyn and their fellow prisoners. Now there was only the babble of the stream, and the calls of a few winter birds, and the rush of the wind.

Deore squirmed, so Elana took her out of the carrying cloth and removed her wool soaker and diaper. She dipped a rag in water warmed by the fire and bathed the baby’s bottom, then flung the messy items in the basket she kept by the door. Eyeing the full basket and dwindling pile of clean supplies, she sighed, knowing what the first task of the day must be. Tucking Deore back into the carrying cloth, she filled her biggest pot with water from the stream and set it to boil, then lugged the basket downstream from where she drew water to her washing area. With a new baby brother or sister every few years, Elana had washed plenty of diapers at home, but there it had always been a communal task, all the women of the village meeting at the stream to chatter and gossip while they worked, those with less to wash helping those with more, so that the time flew and the work seemed light. Here, alone, the mechanical motions of beating each soiled diaper against the rocks and rinsing it in the fast flowing water was mere drudgery. The icy water numbed her fingers. And frequent interruptions from Deore made it impossible to concentrate on her task, as every few moments she would need to be shifted to nurse on the other side, or moved to Elana’s shoulder to burp, or taken out and changed again. The pile of soiled diapers seemed never-ending, shrinking only with maddening slowness. Eventually Deore dropped off to sleep, which allowed Elana to focus on her work.

Finally done rinsing, Elana piled the diapers back in the basket, then dragged them back to the fire and dumped them in the pot. She’d boil them for a while, and then spread them to dry on the bare branches of the bushes surrounding the clearing. At least in this wind they should be dry by nightfall. If only it were summer, she could simply allow Deore to go naked, and learn to read her subtle signals of when elimination was imminent, allowing Elana to hold the baby out over the dirt in plenty of time to stay clean herself. But the cold of winter necessitated keeping her bundled up, so Elana washed diapers.

Deore had woken and was restless, not wanting to nurse, so Elana sat down on a log by the fire and set the baby on her lap. She studied the girl’s face, so different from other babies’, yet so familiar now to Elana. The hair starting to grow in was sparse, and coarser then most children’s. The nose was wide and squashed, the lips thin, and the cheeks broad and asymmetrical. The skin was darker than Elana’s, and blotchy. But the eyes were great golden-brown pools, that could drown you in their depths.

Deore made happy, excited noises, and Elana echoed them back. She nuzzled the baby’s cheek, enjoying the softness. She caught the tiny hands that waved towards her and let the short broad fingers with their delicate claws wrap around her finger. She winced as the points of the claws sank into her skin, and noticed a few red scratches on Deore’s face. “Looks like it’s time to do your nails again, Kitten.” Though Deore wiggled in protest, Elana buffed each claw carefully with a rough stone until the sharp points were dulled.

Elana never tired of gazing at and playing with her baby, but the sun had already passed its zenith, and her stomach complained of hunger. She mixed a bit of her store of flour with lard, and fried the cakes, drizzling them with honey to make an enjoyable lunch. She chopped onions, potatoes, carrots, turnips and cabbage, and added them with more dried meat and some flavorful herbs to a stew pot, which she set over the fire to simmer until suppertime. The diapers had boiled enough and cooled enough to handle, so she worked spreading them to dry, then ventured out into the woods to gather more fallen branches for firewood, and sticks and dry grass for kindling. She had a good amount stored already, but the winter looked to be a hard one, and she was using it faster than she liked. Once the snow came gathering would be much harder.

The short winter daylight was soon fading into sunset, so Elana ate her stew and sat beside the fire for a while, Deore nursing to sleep and drowsing in her lap. The cheerful sunlight and many tasks of the day had pushed aside her loneliness for a while, but now in the darkness it returned full force. Elana could take care of her physical needs and her child’s, but she hadn’t realized how strong her need for people would be. Sleepiness dragged at her eyelids, but Elana resisted, reluctant to face another night of broken sleep and another day alone. I can’t do this, she thought. It just wasn’t right for a mother and baby to be so completely alone. If she’d been back home, there would be plenty of hands to help with her tasks, cheerful voices to keep her company, even, if she needed it, other nursing mothers to take Deore for a few hours and nurse her while Elana got a little sleep. But here she could look forward only to day after day of empty toil, never able to relax from her duties for even an hour, lest her child suffer. Elana had believed she could bear anything, for Deore’s sake. Now she was willing still, but feared more and more she was not able. Almost unnoticed her tears fell, soaking the sleeve she used to wipe her eyes, and dampening her pillow when at last she crept into bed.

Deore slept better that night, and Elana got a few stretches of sleep. But the next morning she woke to a gray, drizzling rain. Thankful she had brought the clean diapers in the night before, she huddled in the shelter with Deore, listening to the rhythm of the drops on the leaves that thatched the roof. Without a fire, she ate cold meals, and stirred from the warmth of her nest of blankets only to patch the leaky places where water seeped its way through the ceiling.

She pulled out the lace shawl she was knitting. She hadn’t had much time in the days since Deore was born to work on her spinning or knitting, but the fine shawls she crafted were her only source of income, and she knew that she must continue to make at least a few, to earn the money for the few things she must buy. This one was almost complete, lacking only the border around the edge. If she worked hard today while trapped by the rain, she could have it finished by nightfall. But that would just about exhaust her supply of the yarn she’d spun before Deore was born, and she had no more fleece.

Pausing to change yet another diaper, Elana looked at the dwindling pile of yarn, and made a decision. Tomorrow, if the rain had stopped, she would take the newly finished shawl into Waymeet. She could sell it and buy new fleece, so she would have materials to work the rest of the winter. Deore was used to spending long hours in the carrying cloth. With luck she could time it so the baby would fall asleep before she entered the town, and Elana would have a few hours with Deore’s face safely concealed inside the folds of cloth. She could walk around the town, be surrounded by people again, speak to other adults who could listen and answer. She could even stop by the smith’s house and visit with Roswyn, her closest friend. Elana’s hands shook and she fumbled the pin, stabbing her own finger where it rested behind the cloth of the diaper, protecting Deore’s tender skin.

She worked feverishly all the rest of the day, impatient with Deore’s interruptions. She cast off the last stitch as the orange light of sunset broke through the clouds that were at last dispersing, taking the rain with them. Working far into the night, she washed the shawl and stretched it on the frame she had made for that purpose, so it would dry smooth and even, with the fine lace patterns clearly defined. She fell into bed exhausted, but she sang to Deore as she nursed her to sleep, filled with excitement and hope for the next day.